


Keep your mouth shut  (it doesn't really matter)

by Astalitha, Kaiserine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathing/Washing, Closeted Character, Couch Cuddles, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Male Escort, Massage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astalitha/pseuds/Astalitha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserine/pseuds/Kaiserine
Summary: Ineligible (becloseted) bachelor Obi-Wan Kenobi loses a bet to his co-worker Quinlan Vos. As his prize, Vos gets to pick Obi-Wan's date for the evening, and commands him to have fun.Obi-Wan is determined to have absolutely no fun whatsoever, especially when Vos hires a charming (and incredibly persistent) male escort to wine and dine him, and share his bed.--Anakin flicks his tongue suggestively around his straw, and takes a sip with an almost pornographic hollowing of his cheeks. He maintains eye-contact with Obi-Wan the entire time, eyelashes fluttering. Obi-Wan stares blankly back at him. How much has Vos paid him? Could Obi-Wan perhaps pay him more to leave?





	1. I will guide you all the way

Anakin Skywalker, the boy that Vos has sent to him, must be at least ten years Obi-Wan's junior - probably more. Obi-Wan sips at his wine morosely. Maybe alcohol will quiet his heaving thoughts enough that he can come up with a way to get out of this.

The boy flicks his tongue suggestively around his straw, and takes a sip with an almost pornographic hollowing of his cheeks. He maintains eye-contact with Obi-Wan the entire time, eyelashes fluttering. Obi-Wan stares blankly back at him. How much has Vos paid him? Could Obi-Wan perhaps pay him more to leave?

The silence is dragging just a little too long, and Anakin's eyes are flickering brightly. Obi-Wan takes another gulp of wine.

"You lost a bet, didn't you."

Obi-Wan chokes half way through his swallow, and narrowly avoids spraying wine across the remains of their food. Curse Vos, curse his stupid bet, and curse himself for losing. He takes another sip to clear his throat.

"Perhaps," he agrees. It's not just the wine staining his cheeks red.

Anakin laughs, a pleased, crystal chime. "Thought so!" he crows. "I get those more than you would think - at least one a month." He takes another sip - another exaggerated batting of his eyelashes. "So, do you even like men?"

Obi-Wan wets his lips, and fights the urge to look away, embarrassed. Maybe it's his age, but - you don't just admit that kind of thing in public. It might be the twenty first century, but he isn't stupid. "Do you?" he counters, expecting his dining partner to back off.

Anakin fixes him with a dry look, eyebrows raised incredulously. "Do you think I'd be in this line of work if I didn't?"

Defeated, Obi-Wan blushes and fiddles with his cutlery. "Yes. Very good," he says, for lack of a better response.

Anakin giggles again. "Well do you?" he presses. Obi-Wan grits his teeth. "Are you shy? You're shy. There's no need to be."

Obi-Wan glares at him. "You seem to be under the misapprehension that this is - going to go somewhere. It's not."

"What's not going anywhere?" Anakin says, and he smirks infuriatingly, raising his chin to show off the handsome column of his neck, and the defined hollow between his collarbones.

"This - whatever Vos had paid you for."

Anakin flashes his teeth at him, dimples in his cheeks. "And what has he paid me for?" he asks, a little too loudly.

Obi-Wan glances around, trying to judge if anyone heard. But everyone is busy eating - voices low over their own murmured conversations.

"To _torment me_ after I lost a bet to him," Obi-Wan replies, a little harshly. He feels bad a moment later. It's not really Anakin's fault - he's stuck here doing a job for the worst possible client. The sooner Obi-Wan can convince him to leave, the better life will be for the both of them.

Anakin's dimpled smile fades, and Obi-Wan feels sorry for it. His smile was comforting - though some of the affection from it remains in his eyes.

"So what exactly were the details of this bet?" Anakin asks, more seriously than the topic deserves.

"Well, if I won, I was going to send Vos out for dinner with our head of estates." Anakin raises his eyebrows. "Lovely woman. Very - forceful. Charming personality."

Anakin laughs - he keeps doing that, and for a moment Obi-Wan is pleased with himself. Then he remembers he has no way of knowing if Anakin truly found that funny. He's an escort - his business is charm and flattery.

"And if he won?" Anakin persists, and he waggles his eyebrows.

"He got to send me out for an evening of _'fun’_ with a person of his choosing."

Anakin nods. Before he can reply, a waitress comes to their table. Fortunately, Anakin chooses not to continue their incriminating conversation.

"Would you like to see the desert menu?" she asks, as she gathers their pots together.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say no, but Anakin gets there first. "It's alright - we've already decided."

"Oh - I'll come back with a pen."

Obi-Wan glares at Anakin, who smiles wolfishly, his teeth flashing. Obi-Wan curses under his breath. "What was that about?"

"We're having fun. That's my job, right? You have to have a fun evening, so that's what we're going to do."

Obi-Wan clicks his tongue a little spitefully. "Fun is not a thing that I have."

"A challenge, huh?" Anakin replies. His eyes are sparkling again, and Obi-Wan feels a sense of foreboding. "You know, I can never resist one of those."

"You shall have your work cut out for you," Obi-Wan responds, draining his wine.

The waitress returns, holding a tablet rather than a pen and paper, despite what she'd said. "What will it be, then?" she asks.

"The raspberry tasting platter, two spoons please," Anakin says, before Obi-Wan can even ask for what's on the menu.

The waitress looks between them. The heat floods out of Obi-Wan's cheeks, and he goes cold and a little sticky. Obi-Wan waits for her to say something awful. Fortunately she just asks if they want drinks.

"Just water, please," Anakin replies. He still has a fair amount of gin left in his glass.

"Of course," the waitress replies, and looks to Obi-Wan who coughs to clear his throat.

"Another Merlot, please - large this time."

She giggles as she finishes their order, in a friendly sort of way, then leaves them in peace.

Anakin watches her until she's out of earshot, then leans across the table, and places a hand on Obi-Wan's wrist, where it rests by his glass. Obi-Wan jerks his arm back, but Anakin's grip is surprisingly strong, despite the seeming lightness of his touch.

"Relax. We're having fun. You really haven't done anything like this before, have you?"

Obi-Wan jerks his arm back out of Anakin's grip. "This isn't my idea of fun."

"I thought you said you didn't have fun?"

"Correct. I am physically incapable of fun, and even if I was, this would be far from how I would go about it."

"You're physically incapable of fun," Anakin parrots. "What? Does your dick not work?"

Obi-Wan cringes internally but refuses to back down. "You know what? Maybe it doesn't,” he lies. “There you go. I'm completely incapable of enjoying your services - you should leave, and make a better use of your time."

Anakin smiles sweetly. "Don't worry, Obi-Wan. I'm sorry - I didn't mean to make fun of you." He reaches out under the table, and pat's Obi-Wan's knee. "We can work around it - I'll show you."

Obi-Wan is incredibly grateful that the waitress chooses this moment to appear with his glass of wine, before he can dig the hole any deeper or work out how sincere Anakin is being. She sets it down and takes his empty glass.

"Are you two here on a date?" she asks, after a moment of obvious hesitation.

"Yeah," says Anakin, and he squeezes Obi-Wan's knee. He has the gall to look mushily at Obi-Wan, his eyes glimmering with all the appearance of genuine amour. Obi-Wan takes a long sip of wine to avoid punching him in the face. The irritation he feels is so powerful, it’s like deja-vu.

"Well, I hope you have a lovely evening," says the waitress, and floats away, pale pigtails swinging down her back.

Obi-Wan bites his tongue. He's from an older generation, he reminds himself. Things are different these days. No one's going to murder him with a tire iron in a back alley in the middle of Coruscant city because a guy patted his knee. That doesn't stop his heart from thumping twenty times too fast - curse Vos, and Anakin too.

As he steadily empties his glass of wine, lapsing into silence under Anakin's relentless flirting, Obi-Wan begins to feel a little steadier. Nothing terribly bad has happened yet. Anakin watches him, sipping his gin and tonic through the straw with his ridiculous, provocative motions.

For a moment, Obi-Wan imagines letting things go - Anakin is here for him. Has been paid to pay attention to him, and if possible, have sex with him. The thought is enough to make him squirm - it seems awfully wrong, somehow, in a way beyond describing. But nevertheless, it really could be fun. Exciting. The more he thinks on it, the more it seems like a good idea - and that settles it.

"Well then, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighs. "How much do I need to pay you to get you to leave me alone?"

Anakin leans back in his seat. He stares into his gin and tonic, swirling the ice with his straw. Then he looks up, and fixes Obi-Wan with a hard, smug look across the table. "More than you can afford."

"Don't be ridiculous," Obi-Wan snaps. "How much is he charging you? What's your hourly rate?"

Anakin smiles - not a kind smile. It's a little pitying and perhaps even sad. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I'll give you-” Obi-Wan calculates quickly. He has no idea what an escort costs. ”-two hundred dollars."

Anakin outright laughs. "That's a little under my going rate. And by a little, I mean orders of magnitude."

Obi-Wan boggles. He'd guessed at twenty dollars an hour.

"How much?"

"Too much. And I don't break contract. You're stuck with me."

Obi-Wan sips at his wine, unsure what to try next. "What if I call the police? You can't just - follow me around?"

Anakin pouts. "You wouldn't ruin my livelihood, would you?"

Obi-Wan sighs. "No, I wouldn't."

Anakin pats his arm again, stroking his fingers over the fabric of his jacket, and scratching lightly over the soft skin inside his wrist. Obi-Wan shivers. On a whim, he takes Anakin's wrist in his own hand, and examines the blue veins, the muscles and tendons of his forearm, and the rough, pleasant texture of his palm. Anakin holds still and lets him - but a moment later, the waitress appears with their 'Raspberry tasting platter'.

Obi-Wan jerks his hand back, fumbling with his napkin and wine and avoiding the waitress' eyes. She pats him on the shoulder as she leaves the table, and Obi-Wan catches her winking at Anakin. Anakin grins after her.

"Come on," says Anakin. "Try some of this." He thrusts a spoon of a creamy, moussey looking substance at Obi-Wan's face.

Obi-Wan glares at him, but Anakin won't stop waving the dessert in his face. Obi-Wan reaches out to take the spoon, but Anakin jerks it back.

"Ah-ah," he says. He won't relent until Obi-Wan bends forward and lets him push the spoon past his lips.

Obi-Wan scowls as he does so - but he finds himself assuaged by the rich creamy texture and tang of delicious raspberry.

Anakin grins at him, and hands him a spoon of his own. Begrudgingly, Obi-Wan steals a little more of the mousse, while Anakin works on a violently sweet looking cheesecake.

“You should try the sorbet,” Anakin says, so Obi-Wan does. It’s crisp and fresh, with a hint of something herbal and lemony.

Emboldened by two large glasses of wine and the friendliness of the waitress, Obi-Wan takes a spoonful of icecream, and offers it to Anakin across the table. He expects another sultry grin - which does make an appearance. But before that - there’s something else there. Something coy, and pleased. Relieved.

It’s a masterful manipulation, Obi-Wan reminds himself.

Anakin slides the sorbet off the spoon and rolls it around his mouth. His pleasure evident but no longer exaggerated, as he’d been with his drink.

Obi-Wan looks away.

“Do you study anything?” He asks, as Anakin takes a fresh, sugar dusted raspberry off the platter with his bare fingers.

Anakin glances up. “No. Why? About to give me a lecture on how I’m too good for this job?”

Obi-Wan blushes. Yes, he thinks, but doesn’t say. “Of course not - you’re welcome to whatever job you desire. Just - you seem - like you would be bored, without something to entertain your mind.”

Anakin fixes him with a shrewd look. Obi-Wan blinks at him innocently. “I have hobbies,” Anakin says.

“Oh yes?” says Obi-Wan, curious despite himself.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of hobbies are these?” Obi-Wan presses, when Anakin doesn’t respond immediately. He is focused on the plate, chasing another raspberry around it with his spoon, and Obi-Wan leans forward to capture his gaze.

Anakin blinks at him. “Making things, I suppose. Electronics. Mechanics. I’ve got a car I’m fixing up.”

Manual work, Obi-Wan thinks. Rough palms. “I see. And you haven’t studied these things.”

Anakin quirks an eyebrow at him. “Why would I? I don’t need to.”

“You’re hardly going to be young and pretty forever,” Obi-Wan scolds, before he can stop himself.

Anakin rolls his eyes. “So I’ll make all my cash now and save it for later.”

“You don’t seem like the type to save.”

“I’m not - but I make more money than I can spend, so it works out.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. He should never have started this conversation anyway. He’d promised himself before the evening began that he wouldn’t lecture.

He drains his wine glass, pleased with how his head swims a little. It’s a lot easier to smile at Anakin, to accept his sly touches and pretty smiles with half a bottle of wine sloshing round his system. He offers another scoop of sorbet to Anakin by way of apology.

Anakin performs shameless felatio on the spoon, and Obi-Wan returns it to his own mouth immediately after, wondering if he will be able to taste Anakin on the metal.

Mostly what he can taste is wine, so he steals several sips of Anakin’s water, rinsing it round his mouth until Anakin offers him a piece of fruit, held out on his open palm. Not quite believing his own audacity, Obi-Wan leans forward and plucks the fruit into his mouth, leaving an open mouthed kiss on Anakin’s palm.

Anakin smiles at him, and Obi-Wan flushes. They really are getting stares now. In a corner across the room, a man leans over and whispers something in his friend’s ear. Obi-Wan finishes his dessert in silence and pays the bill as swiftly as possible.

"Here," says Anakin, and stuffs his phone into Obi-Wan's hands. "Look after this while I'm in the bathroom, yeah?"

Anakin slips away from the table - effectively pinning Obi-Wan in place with his expensive possessions. Well, two can play at that game. Obi-Wan pushes back from the table, and strides over to the counter. The smiling waitress is there, ringing up someone's meal. Obi-Wan coughs apologetically, and she turns to look at him.

"Can I help you?" she asks, smiling brightly - a typical service smile, edged with something genuine. Obi-Wan's guts want to crawl up and out of his oesophagus.

"My friend - ah - left this. Please take care of it?" he asks, and thrusts the phone into her hands.

"Oh, uh, sure?" she says, but Obi-Wan is already marching away - as fast as possible in a crowded eatery - and moments later he is out in the night air, and ready to flee Anakin Skywalker, and his hellish charm and terrible good looks.

The streets are mostly deserted, and the winter air is crisp and clear. He turns into the park rather than travel along the roads, and lopes from shadow to shadow at a fast breathless pace.

Before long he starts to hear the slap of shoes on the pathway. Already resigned, he doesn't even bother to turn round.

Anakin slings an arm around his shoulder, and pulls him in tight against his side. Obi-Wan considers flipping him - he's no slouch when it comes to self defense, after all. But that would probably add insult to injury - or rather, injury to insult - and he can't bear to visit any more hurt upon his unwanted companion tonight.

"Couldn't wait to get out of there, huh? Me neither," Anakin leers.

Obi-Wan knows he should feel irritated - annoyed by Anakin's persistent refusal to see sense. Instead he feels... grateful.  Grateful that Anakin is choosing to ignore his rudeness, is letting him off with a free pass.

Because as hard as it is to admit, this has probably been the most fun night Obi-Wan has had for months, years even, and he's spent most of it being rude and perhaps a little cruel. If he let himself, he could be happy about it. Then he remembers again that Anakin is being paid to make him feel that way.

He sets his mouth in a bitter line and stuffs his hands into his pockets. Anakin seems to sense his unhappy mood, because he allows Obi-Wan to shrug him off easily enough.

"So where are we going?" Anakin asks, jogging every few paces to keep up with Obi-Wan's stalking.

"Well, I'm going home," Obi-Wan tells him.

"Oh - so we're doing your place then?"

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. "No, you're catching a bus out of here. There's a stop just there," he says, gesturing to the gates of the park, only a few feet ahead of them now. A bus shelter shines across the road from the park, a lonely beacon in the dark.

"What - I can't get a bus!" Anakin scoffs playfully. He slinks up beside Obi-Wan again, this time tucking an arm around his waist. He's warm, solid, and more muscular than Obi-Wan first thought. He's always imagined male escorts as delicate creatures. Anakin is anything but delicate - he's huge. He must be well over six foot tall, and his breath is ruffling Obi-Wan’s hair.

"No, Anakin, you _can_ get a bus. I'll even wait with you, if you're afraid of the dark."

Anakin laughs. "No way. I'm coming home with you, or you can get on that bus with me and come to my place."

Obi-Wan imagines it for a moment - stumbling onto the bus, hands slipping in and out of each others clothes, not caring what anyone else might think.

"I have a comfortable couch," Obi-Wan sighs, "If you really do insist on accompanying me."

"I'm sure it'll be great," Anakin replies. He still hasn't let go, and Obi-Wan allows Anakin to guide him past the bus stop, along the road that will take him home.

The walk from here is almost embarrassingly short. He'd been hoping to make a swift and efficient exit from the evening's ill fated dinner, and so he'd booked somewhere on his own turf.

Unfortunately, now all it serves to do is make him look unadventurous and more than a bit pathetic. Anakin refuses to let go of him - Obi-Wan thinks Anakin might actually be a little cold. All he's wearing is a suit jacket and shirt, and the air is crisp and chill with late autumn.

They turn the corner on to Obi-Wan's street, and suddenly Obi-Wan can feel the eyes of all his neighbours, peering out of their windows and watching him. Anakin presses a soft kiss into his hair. Obi-Wan bows his head, and guides Anakin to his front door.

While he fumbles with his keys in the dark, The Cat leaps down from a neighbour's car and twines his ankles, mewing loudly.

"Is this one yours?" Anakin asks, abandoning his assault on Obi-Wan's personal space to crouch down and try and pet The Cat.

"Sort of," Obi-Wan replies. "He doesn't like strangers, you might not want to-" The Cat headbutt's Anakin's offered fingers, and Anakin laughs, fluffing the fur behind The Cat's ears.

"What do you mean, sort of?" Anakin asks.

"He's my father's really. He just - ran out of space." Obi-Wan clicks his tongue. He doesn't want to get into the intricacies of Qui-Gon's animal hoarding habits right now.

"I see. What is he called?" Anakin asks. The Cat is now twining around the both of them, purring like a fuzzy motor while Anakin tries to keep up with his movements. More fool Anakin - all The Cat wants is food.

"He's just The Cat," Obi-Wan says.

"The Cat? You call your pet The Cat?" Anakin says, slightly incredulous.

Obi-Wan finally manages to unlock the door and shove it open. It's wooden, and sticks ever so slightly in the frame. Anakin and The Cat follow him inside. Obi-Wan now has a hooker in his house. This is not a turn of events he predicted at the start of the week. He shoves the door closed, and gives it a good boot when it won't quite line up with the frame. Anakin laughs.

"Uh - you might want to get that replaced?"

"Yes, yes I know," Obi-Wan sighs. There's so much he should do really. It's not like he couldn't get the door replaced. He just... hasn't got round to it. There hasn't really been a point. He rarely has guests. "Shoes off, please," Obi-Wan instructs, toeing off his own.

Anakin kicks off his shoes, then removes his scarf, and hangs his suit jacket on the banister. He's wearing a white shirt underneath, with no tie. The collar hangs open, exposing his throat. Before Obi-Wan can shrug out of his coat, Anakin steps forward to take them. He presses up against Obi-Wan's back, first unlooping his scarf from around his neck, and then brushing his shoulders with soft, shivery touches as he takes the coat.

Obi-Wan opens the cupboard he keeps them in, and watches the play of muscles beneath Anakin's shirt as he reaches out to hang them up.

Anakin catches him looking this time, and smirks rakishly. Obi-Wan coughs and looks away.

"Well, welcome to my home, I suppose." He says. The Cat mews in agreement, tail held high, curling at the tip like a question mark.

"He's really friendly!" Anakin says, as Obi-Wan opens the door to the living room.

"He just wants feeding - as soon as he has his supper, you'll see his true colours."

"I'm sure."

Obi-Wan's living room isn't exactly untidy - there is not much surface mess. There are manuscripts scattered across the couch, this morning's cup beside his arm chair, and a slight ruckle in the rug. But there's nothing particularly cheerful about his home - it's just a place where he lives.

"You don't have a television," says Anakin.

"No," Obi-Wan replies, as he collects The Cat’s bowl and a sachet of food from the kitchen. "I never really saw the point."

"What are these books on your couch?" Anakin asks. Obi-Wan sticks his head into the living room. Anakin is gathering his manuscripts together into a pile on the coffee table. "Bach? Purcell? Scarlatti?"

"Music. I like to read along when I listen."

Anakin laughs, but not unkindly. The Cat, as Obi-Wan expected, has abandoned Anakin in favour of harassing him for his dinner. Obi-Wan sets it down reluctantly. With The Cat taken care of, he has nothing to do but face Anakin.

Anakin is stood by the couch. In a few short minutes he's managed to find a few of Obi-Wan's candles, and now he's slowly lighting them. One by one, they flare to life, sending little golden glints scattering around the room.

"Get the lights," Anakin commands. Obi-Wan does. "Now come here."

Obi-Wan approaches the couch with great hesitance. Anakin beckons him coaxingly, and then, when Obi-Wan is close enough, he guides him physically. One hand on his neck, the other at his waist, Anakin seats him in the corner, against the wall.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Anakin says. Obi-Wan watches him disappear into the kitchen, hears the clattering of his pots and the humming of his coffee machine. The few minutes that Anakin is gone, he has enough time to contemplate how utterly he has lost control of the situation.

Anakin comes back with two cups of black coffee, which he sets on the table. He looks pleased to find Obi-Wan still on the couch.

Obi-Wan watches him as he pads around the room, stockinged feet on the floor boards. Anakin is fiddling with his phone, somehow hooking it up to the sound system. It's a little annoying that a complete stranger can coax more use out of his appliances than he can. Obi-Wan expects some kind of obnoxious, romantic sounding music - perhaps even classical - a clumsy attempt to give him something he might like. Instead, it's an audio book.

It's not what he expected - it's hardly romantic, Obi-Wan recognises the author as someone known more for thrillers than anything else. Not exactly a conducive environment for a seduction. Then it dawns on him - Anakin really is trying to make sure he has fun. He's not going to try and chase Obi-Wan into bed, or kiss him, or do anything that would actually count as some form of assault.

For the first time all evening, Obi-Wan feels himself relax.

A moment later, Anakin joins him on the couch. When Obi-Wan doesn't glower, or say anything sarcastic, Anakin seems to take it as a sign to push further. Grinning playfully, he maneuvers Obi-Wan's legs onto the couch, then settles himself in between them like Obi-Wan is his favourite arm chair. Obi-Wan lets him. It's easy, listening to the opening words of whatever book Anakin has put on, and with that half bottle of wine still leaving him with the dregs of liquid courage.

He runs a hand through Anakin's hair experimentally. It's soft, and Anakin hums a pleased noise, so he does it again, then sinks his fingers in to scrape at the scalp, the way he once had long ago with other partners. Anakin seems to relax, turning so he can rest his cheek against Obi-Wan's chest. Obi-Wan pulls the couch throw over him.

They sit that way for some time, at least half an hour. Obi-Wan alternates between sipping his coffee and massaging at Anakin's scalp.

"You know, it's meant to be you getting pampered," Anakin sighs, as Obi-Wan drifts towards his neck, rubbing at what feels like a stubborn knot beneath the skin.

"It is, isn't it," he responds. In a way, he is being pampered - he hasn't been this close to another human being in years - especially not with another man, not since his more youthful, daring indiscretions.

"Usually people have their hands all over me by now," Anakin says. And Obi-Wan thinks - _I could do that too. I could touch._ That's what's meant to be happening, right now. No doubt Quinlan Vos will be expecting all kinds of lewd activities to have taken place, and there's no reason for Obi-Wan not to engage in them.

He lets his hands drift lower, fingers kneading into the thick muscles of Anakin's shoulders, and the stiff knotted places around his spine. Anakin groans, then whimpers, going slack with what Obi-Wan expects is a mixture of pain and relief. He lets off when Anakin yelps, soothing the muscle he's been attacking with firm, gliding motions. It's a little awkward through Anakin's shirt, and Anakin seems to come to that conclusion too.

"Can I take this off?" Anakin asks, sitting up and plucking at the front of his shirt.

"Of course," Obi-Wan replies.

Anakin undoes only half the buttons of his shirt before he pulls it over his head. He dumps it in a pile on the floor. Obi-Wan purses his lips - how untidy - but it'll be gone soon, so it's no matter.

Underneath his shirt, Anakin's body is firm and well defined, with evidence of exercise and diet designed to maximise the appearance of health and beauty. Just because he can, Obi-Wan reaches out, and slides a hand down Anakin's chest, over his sternum and down across his frankly ridiculous abs. Anakin looks wolfish, eyes sparkling and teeth bared.

Anakin settles back down against him, and Obi-Wan continues his assault against the knots in his back. Now and again he pauses to slide a hand over Anakin's chest, or across his stomach. Once, daringly, he thumbs over a nipple, then swiftly returns to rubbing circles into Anakin's scalp. He tries it a second time. The third, he splays his fingers out across Anakin's chest, and Anakin stares up at him. He places a hand on top of Obi-Wan's own, and guides it down over his stomach, to his waist band and the vee between his hips.

Obi-Wan's fingers curl back as soon as they hit cloth, and Anakin grins up at him. But this has gone far enough.

Obi-Wan snatches his hand back and sits up, levering Anakin up as he does so and depositing him against the couch. Extricating himself from Anakin's lazy sprawl proves difficult, especially with Anakin as an unwilling partner.

"Get up," Obi-Wan snaps eventually. Anakin pouts at him, lip out, and Obi-Wan ignores him. Anakin complies, tucking his legs underneath himself and wrapping his arms around his bare chest.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I need to get ready for bed - I need a shower, I need to - I don't know." Obi-Wan sighs, and scrubs a hand through his hair, which is grimy with product.

"Let me wash your hair, then?" Anakin asks.

"Fine," Obi-Wan sighs, before he can think better of it.

"Great! Where's your bathroom?"

"Upstairs, come on." Obi-Wan drags himself up off the couch, and Anakin follows, shutting off the book on his phone as he goes.

The upstairs area is even more miserable than downstairs - cold and dingy, in addition to disheveled and lifeless. The bathroom is clean and sparse, and his bedroom is the same, the bed unmade and the curtains drawn. Anakin explores like a curious puppy, sticking his head into the study to peer around, opening and poking into cupboards and picking up Obi-Wan's various unused lotions and soaps.

While Anakin makes a nuisance of himself, Obi-Wan sets a bath to run, turning the water carelessly hot. Sequestered in the bathroom, he listens to Anakin clonking around his rooms - the squeak of his mattress, the wardrobe door, the closet, the study, the draws of his bedside table. If Anakin is robbing him, he can't even bring himself to care.

So. Anakin intends to wash his hair. What should he do? He doesn't exactly want to bathe in his underwear, but the only other option is being naked. He's shy in public changing rooms. This kind of intimacy is unprecedented.

In the end, he decides that Anakin catching him in the act of stripping would be worse than Anakin seeing him in the bath water. He strips quickly and efficiently, and folds his clothes into a neat pile on top of the laundry hamper.

Getting into the bath is a challenge. He turned the tap far too high, and while it's not enough to truly scald him, the water is almost painfully hot, especially with him having grown used to the cold air of his house. He has no choice, he’s naked now - he sits down as quickly as possibly, hissing and cringing all the while. The door opens, and a puff of cold air swirls around the bathroom, blessedly cooling him down.

He hears rustling movement - towels, no doubt. He focuses very hard on the taps ahead of him, and contemplates running a cool shower at the same time as a hot bath.

The next thing he feels is skin on his back, and then he realises that Anakin isn't just beside him - he's climbed in with him. Skin on skin, firm hands on his bare shoulders.

"Nice and warm," Anakin says.

Obi-Wan says nothing, thinks nothing, for far too long. He has to speak eventually, though, so he finally forces something out. "A little too warm for me, I think. I might put the shower on, if you don't mind?"

"Go ahead," says Anakin, so Obi-Wan does just that, fiddling with the mixer tap so the temperature is no longer scalding. The water sluices down over his head, drumming against his scalp. He's always found it a meditative, calming sensation.

Anakin is shifting behind him. He pulls Obi-Wan back until he can rest against Anakin's legs, reclining against him. There's the click of the cap of his shampoo opening, the familiar scent of it. Then hands, massaging into his hair.

It feels good. He's warm, comfortable. Close to someone. The pressure of fingers, the rhythmic patter of the shower against the bath water, the low light and whir of the bathroom fan; they lull him.

He reminds himself again that Anakin is being paid to do this. Suddenly he finds it difficult to bother about it. Anakin is being paid to care for him - to pamper him and relax him and make him feel happy. It's been a long time since he's ever felt this relaxed and close to another human being. Anakin is a professional, whose skills are geared precisely towards making him feel like this. Suddenly the impersonality of it all is comforting, rather than distressing. There's no need for emotional vulnerability. He can let himself have this, if only once.

He closes his eyes, leans back, lets himself feel the texture of skin on skin, the soft, pliant movements of flesh sliding across flesh. Breath, rising and falling, a heartbeat under his ear. Anakin helps him up to rinse his hair, then pulls him down again to slide a bar of amber soap over his chest.

Obi-Wan slides back into the heat of the bath. Anakin’s legs wrap around his hips, and Obi-Wan floats between them supported by the water.

Anakin sets the soap aside and works the suds into a lather. As he does so, an impish look works its way onto his face.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan asks, feeling the first hints of caution.

Anakin beams innocently at him - and then squirms his finger under Obi-Wan's arms. Obi-Wan thrashes and babbles, jerking and laughing helplessly.

"Stop Anakin - no! Don't you dare - Please!"

Anakin laughs at him. "I was just making sure you're clean..."

"I'm sure you were," Obi-Wan glowers, but a moment later Anakin's fingers are rubbing over his skin again, and that quiets him.

They soak for a while, Obi-Wan managing the water flow in and out of the bath with his toes. When he feels like he's wasted a sufficient amount of water, he sits up. Anakin moves behind him, pulling himself up.

He puts a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, pushing him back into the tub. "Stay there and rinse off - I'll get your towel."

So he does. He feels dazed and quiet. He empties the bath and sits under the shower until Anakin comes back. Anakin has stolen a pair of Obi-Wan's pyjamas - flannel pants and an old baggy t-shirt.

The bathroom is darkened, and Obi-Wan is done with feeling self conscious for the evening. He turns off the water and stands, drying himself with his hands. Anakin greets him with his softest towel as he steps out of the bath. He wraps it tightly around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, enfolding him in a hug as he does so.

He's folded Obi-Wan's nightwear on top of the laundry hamper, next to today's clothes.

"Come to the bedroom when you're ready, yeah?"

Obi-Wan nods. When Anakin has left, he finishes his evening ablutions and changes into his pyjamas. He fishes a spare brush out of the cabinet for Anakin, and takes it through to the bedroom once he's done.

Anakin is seated on the bed - which he's made up crisp and new, perhaps another skill of the trade. He looks fresh and pretty, and he's tied his ridiculous hair away from his face. More like a human being, and less like some kind of Greek god of eroticism.

Obi-Wan hands him the tooth brush. "Here - you should freshen up."

"Thanks," Anakin says. He seems to wait a moment. This would be Obi-Wan's opportunity to consign him to the couch. He should really say something. But the urge and the moment pass.

"Well go on then," he prompts. Anakin grins at him, and heads to the bathroom.

His room looks cosy and lived in for the first time in a long time. Anakin has left his socks, pants and underwear on the floor and there's a dimple in the bedding where he was seated. He's still staring at that dimple when Anakin comes back, smelling minty. He doesn't wait for Obi-Wan - just peels the covers back and climbs in.

Obi-Wan follows after him without protest. He feels dreamy, light. As if his actions will have no consequences - and that's a dangerous feeling indeed. Anakin slips his fingers under the hem of his shirt and ruffles through the fuzz on his stomach and chest.

Obi-Wan lets him, especially when he doesn’t push it any further. Anakin feels safe and gloriously real, and Obi-Wan huddles towards him.

Lulled by the rhythm of fingers on his skin, he falls asleep.


	2. The safest place to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** this fic chapter ramps the heat up a little. Not sure if it's hard T or light M
> 
> Apologies in advance for the formatting....

_...We walked all night, making better time than the vehicles. My leg ached and I was tired..._

Obi-Wan blinks. Wintery afternoon shadows have crept into his room while he's been reading, and his eyes are aching with the strain in the low light. He closes his book and sets it aside, sighing. The sun has set, and the trees outside his back windows are little more than silhouettes against the dusk sky. He should stand up and turn the light on. His feet are cold, though. So he sits, staring at his lumpy old couch, where The Cat is curled up snoozing away.

His tea cup is still by his elbow, half full and forgotten. Beside his drink is the opened, hand addressed envelope which he has been ignoring for the past week. He picks up the cup and takes a sip. The tea is cold, but he finds it very difficult to care. It's wet, and he's thirsty. He's been reading for hours now.

He sets the cup down and picks the envelope up instead. Qui-Gon has taken care to be neat with his hand on the address, but the letter itself is his usual chicken scrawl. Obi-Wan stares at the letter for some time, then tucks it back inside the envelope without reading it. It's too late now, anyway. December third. He's successfully managed to evade Qui-Gon for yet another Thanksgiving. He tosses the envelope back on the side table, and considers going back to his book.

Right, he needs to turn the light on. He sighs, and picks up his phone instead. Perhaps there will be some e-mails from work for him to deal with. Except there aren't - it's a Sunday evening.

He could message someone. Lord knows there are enough people he hasn't replied to over the last few weeks. Vos might even be glad to hear from him - the man has certainly been chatty with him, particularly the last couple of months. He's been teasing Obi-Wan every opportunity since he won his bet. Obi-Wan usually saves his energy for dealing with Vos - and most people - for the working week. It's easier somehow, in a supposedly professional environment.

But Sunday evening - it's not like he doesn't have much else to do.

He opens his contacts list, flicking through, wincing as he passes through the S's. There's "Skywalker" keyed in by Vos the day after his and Anakin's ridiculous date.

"Call him," he'd said, and waggled his eyebrows until Obi-Wan had groaned and hustled back to his office.

Guiltily, Obi-Wan considers it. There's something safe about dealing with him - it's not personal. No complex relationship with someone he'd have to handle on a day to day basis. No concern about imposing on someone who would likely tire of his company. He could say and do whatever he liked - within the realm of reason - and he'd be paying Anakin for the privilege.

His pride utterly rankles at the idea. Plus, he can't possibly start a habit of paying for company. His funds aren't exactly insufficient - he's not an extravagant spender, and he's been careful to invest wisely. Between his meager housing and his frugal living conditions, he could certainly afford to pay for company - but not for long, if he kept it up.

He doesn't even know how much Anakin costs. 'Orders of magnitude' he'd said. That implied at least a thousand dollars, likely more. Still, he finds himself thinking. It wouldn't hurt to know.

            **\- So, ah, what exactly do you charge?**

**\- 17:53 Today**

He sends it before he can think better, and cringes a moment later. Oh well - he'd never given Anakin his number. Hopefully Anakin will ignore him, and if not, he's free to ignore the response.

He should just get on with his evening. Stand up, make some more tea, and switch the light on. Like a perfectly normal human being, who is capable of spending a Sunday evening alone without stewing in the dark. Obi-Wan levers himself out of his chair, closes the curtains, and switches on the light. After a moment's contemplation he flicks on his stereo. There's already a CD in the tray - a generic compilation of classical pieces. Familiar music to fill the silence. He sets it to play.

Then he heads into the kitchen, puts the kettle on to boil and rinses his old mug clear from tea. A steady rhythm. Not comforting, so much as grounding. It pulls him back into real life.

Out in the living room, his phone chimes. New Message. Obi-Wan goes back to making the tea. He can just ignore the message.

He sets his tea down on top of Qui-Gon's envelope - there is already a beige ring where he'd jostled the last cup - and glances at his phone. The New Message icon blinks accusingly at him.

He should at least do Anakin the honour of reading his text.

            **_\- you got a name? :)_**

                            **_17:59 Today_**

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He should have known better than to expect a simple answer out of Anakin. He goes to set his phone down, but before he can even close out of the text messaging app, his phone buzzes and a new message appears.

**_\- cause id love to put something to that_**

**_adorable stammering ;)_**

**_\- 18:01Today_**

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. Flirting with a potential customer. It's artfully executed. More fool Anakin.

**\- We've already met. It's Kenobi.**

**\- 18:02 Today**

Obi-Wan puts his phone down. He hadn't intended to engage in conversation, but leaving Anakin in the dark seems rude somehow. It buzzes before he can pick his book up, and he finds himself checking automatically.

**_\- thought so! hi obi-wan!_**

**_\- 18:02 Today_**

Obi-Wan sighs. What is he meant to say to that?

            - So what do you charge?

But now Anakin knows it's him speaking - he'd rather forget the whole thing. He made a mistake. He deletes the message before sending it. He has to say something.

            - How are you?

No, that's pathetic. So stiff and formal, and strangely needy too. Artless. But he needs to say something. Something neutral and polite.

**\- Hello.**

**-18:06 Today**

There. That's polite, and hopefully neutral and off putting enough that Anakin will lose interest in bothering him. Unfortunately his phone buzzes again, only seconds later. Obi-Wan reads the message, growing irritable. Can't Anakin take a hint?

            **_\- had to check to make sure_**

**_\- 18:06 Today_**

Obi-Wan sighs. He can leave things on that note. Go back to his book. It's a work night, he shouldn't really drink, but there's a half full bottle of white in the fridge. A glass to keep him company, and he can forget this whole thing.

His phone buzzes before he can put it down.

**_\- for regulars, it's $530 a night._**

**_\- 18:07 Today_**

Obi-Wan stares at the message in horror. At least that settles one thing - he's not wasting $530 on Anakin Skywalker.  A moment later he feels guilty - he's talking about a human being like they have a monetary value. Anakin Skywalker is worth more than $530, surely. Just not to him. Which is probably even worse. It's all semantics, he reminds himself. He's not a bad person just because he doesn't want to spend hundreds of dollars on a glorified hooker.

**_\- what did you have in mind ;)_**

 **** **_\- 18:07 Today_ **

**** **_\- i can total it for you_ **

**_\- 18:07 Today_**

Looks like Anakin really won't take the hint. He'll have to admit to his mistake, and make it clear he's not interested.

            - Sorry to bother you, please go away.

No, that's not right. Too aggressive.

            - I wish

No.

            - I'm sorry. I was lonely, and I shouldn't have

No, that really is pathetic. What is he trying to do? He needs to make Anakin go away, not hold a pity party.

**\- Never mind. I'm sorry to bother**

**you. Have a good evening.**

**\- 18:09 Today**

Issue dealt with, Obi-Wan sets his phone down and goes back to his book. It buzzes, but he manages to ignore it - for a while. It buzzes again.

**_\- too expensive?_**

**_\- 18:11 Today_**

**_\- you bailing?_**

**_\- 18:14 Today_**

No, it's not too expensive, Obi-Wan wants to reply. He's not strapped for cash. He's simply not the kind of person to throw $530 away on ephemeral, passing pleasures.

            - I just don't think it's worth $530

But that's insulting. Anakin, in all honesty, has been perfectly polite to him. He deletes the message. How can he explain? He can't.

**\- Yes.**

**\- 18:22 Today**

That's final. Surely Anakin can't question that.

**_\- can't swoop by after so long and get_**

**_shy on me :(_**

**_\- 18:23 Today_**

**_\- i just turned another client away for you_**

**_-18:23 Today_**

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. That really is too much - does Anakin honestly believe he can't spot emotional blackmail? No matter what he tries, Anakin won't take no for an answer. Is he trying to make a hard sell? It certainly seems that way. Pressuring clients into buying sex they don't want? It's beyond the pale.

**\- I can, however, decide not to spend**

**frivolously on the likes of you.**

**\- 18:24 Today**

**\- You should have waited. It's hardly my**

**fault.**

**\- 18:25 Today**

**\- Don't blame me for your poor decision making**

**abilities and terrible business**

**sense.**

**\- 18:25 Today**

Obi-Wan stuffs the phone down the side of his couch so he can't hear it, and takes a long sip of his tea. It's already cooling. He'd forgotten about it. He closes his eyes, and listens to the music still playing, counting along with the beat. Strings, playing a simple, repetitive melody in a beautiful spectrum of textures. His breathing evens, and he finds himself relaxing - then jerks in shock when the cushion vibrates against his ass. He yanks his phone out of his couch and glares down at it.

**_\- my poor decision making abilities?_**

**_\- 18:31 Today_**

**_\- i hope you see the irony here_**

**_-18:31 Today_ **

Obi-Wan fumes. He has no idea what that means. *His* poor decision making? He takes another sip of tea to calm his nerves. His heart is thumping with irritable adrenaline. He breathes in, out. Calms himself. This would be so much easier in person. He didn't want this fight, but Anakin is being completely ridiculous.

**\- I don't believe I do. Please enlighten**

**me.**

**\- 18:35 Today**

He glares at his phone, waiting for a response. After what seems like an age, Anakin messages back.

**_\- You messaged me._**

**_\- 18:37 Today_**

Even though text should convey no tone, the message seems curt compared to what Anakin has sent previously. Obi-Wan eyes the improved grammar suspiciously. What does Anakin mean to imply? That Obi-Wan was foolish to contact him? Well. He's not wrong.

            **\- Clearly I make mistakes too, have a good evening.**

**\- 18:40 Today**

That doesn't seem enough though.

**\- Maybe you should message that other client back.**

 **-** **I'm sure they'll be plenty happy to h** **ear you**   **reconsidered.**

**\- 18:41 Today**

For a moment he feels a vicious stab of joyous spite. He rereads the message, worried his words might be seen as cruel. No - that's not possible. His words are perfectly polite. It sounds like Anakin could use the advice, even. He watches his phone, waiting for the inevitable response. He stares at the open app for more than a minute, then sets his phone aside. This was a terrible idea. He's succeeded in winding himself up. He should never have replied to Anakin - not even messaged him in the first place.

He goes back to his book.

_. ..I was tired but we made good time. It seemed so silly -_

Obi-Wan jumps. The phone vibrates again. He practically stabs in his pin code.

**_\- What made you think of me?_**

**_\- 18:50 Today_**

Obi-Wan stares at the message. He's not answering that. He'd felt - he'd been bored. And, yes, perhaps a little lonely. And guilty, too, for ignoring Qui-Gon's invite to Thanksgiving dinner. He'd wanted to distract himself. He can't tell Anakin any of that, though.

            **\- I saw your name in my phone.**

**\- 18:51 Today**

Perhaps that's a little insulting, but... well. It's for the greater good. If Anakin intends to bother him despite his polite protestations, he'll need to try other methods. It's for Anakin's own good, besides. He could be out making money. Instead, he's arguing with Obi-Wan about why Obi-Wan got in touch with him. Obi-Wan honestly can't fathom why that might be - irritating one's potential customers surely isn't good for business.

**_\- How'd it get there?_**

**_\- 18:52 Today_**

Obi-Wan sighs, and massages his temples one handed.

**\- Vos.**

**\- 18:52 Today**

That's whose fault this is. Obi-Wan could be having a perfectly peaceful afternoon, only now he's stuck in a pointless conversation with the most irritating - well, second most irritating man on earth. After Vos himself.

**_\- Vos put it in?_**

**_\- 18:54 Today_**

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

            **\- Yes.**

**\- 1854 Today.**

Despite his irritation, Anakin remains persistent.

**_\- So you don't want me over?_ **

**_-18:54 Today_ **

**_\- Or you can't afford it?_ **

**_-18:55 Today_ **

No, Obi-Wan thinks. I can afford it. But I won't.

**_\- Surely you earn more than Vos?_ **

**_-18:55 Today_ **

Anakin really will just not give up. He fumbles with his phone, trying to find something he can use to shut him up.

**\- What I earn is none of your business, and**

**besides, one doesn't keep mine by spending**

**it uselessly!**

**\- 18:55 Today**

He hits send, then cringes at the typo. He goes to type a correction.

\- Money, not

Then deletes it, because honestly who cares at this point. He needs to end things now, this is getting totally ridiculous.

**\- I am not spending $530 on you, thank you and good night.**

**-18:55 Today**

\- but Anakin has already replied.

**_\- do you think Vos spent his money uselessly on that bet?_ **

**_\- 18:56 Today_ **

Clearly that's the case, Obi-Wan thinks viciously. Vos wasted his money, time and prize on a ridiculous joke, that Obi-Wan is incapable of getting. Who knows what Vos thought, perhaps he just wanted teasing material for months to come. Perhaps, lord knows why, he actually wanted Obi-Wan to really have fun - and that was clearly a failure of extravagant proportions.

**\- YES I fo**

**\- 18:56 Today**

His thumb slips before he can delete the typo, sending the garbled message accidentally

**\- YES, I don't know what he was thinking**

**\- 18:56 Today**

 

There is a knock. On his door.

It cuts through the opening strains of Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik like a sharp knife through paper. Obi-Wan launches to his feet, to peer out of the window - but his door is already opening.

It can't be. He wouldn't.

Obi-Wan yanks open the living room door. There stands Anakin, in his hallway. He's dressed head to toe in black leather - biking gear - and he's bending over to unzip his massive, frankly ridiculous boots.

"You fixed your door!" he says, hopping on one foot while he drags his boot off the other.

"Get out of my house!" Obi-Wan cries, brandishing his phone like a weapon.

"It was open though - you probably should lock it," Anakin replies, as if he didn't hear him. He's kicked off the one boot, and now he's working on the other, all creaking leather and the scent of oil and gas. There's a gold and black helmet with a wing like design propped on Obi-Wan's banister post.

"Leave, right now! I will call the police," Obi-Wan announces, trying to sounds as stern as possible.

Anakin has finished with his boots. He's now unzipping his jacket, revealing a form fitting black t-shirt and a stupidly large belt. He hangs his jacket over the banister, then puts an arm around Obi-Wan, shoving him into the living room. Obi-Wan sputters angrily in response, lost for words.

“Relax, Obi-Wan, I was around so I thought I’d come see you," Anakin says. He settles himself down on the couch, next to The Cat, and props his feet up on the coffee table.

Obi-Wan roughly stabs the number for emergency services in to his phone, and waves it in Anakin's face.

"Look, I mean it, if you're not out of my house in thirty seconds, I'm going to make the call."

"No you're not," says Anakin, and plucks the phone out of his hand. He throws it to the other side of the couch, where it bounces once and falls face down.

He's right - Obi-Wan doesn't really have it in him to get Anakin arrested. Anakin flashes him a smile - it's so happy and warm and comforting that Obi-Wan feels like a vice is constricting something in his stomach.

"Nice pyjamas," Anakin says.

And - oh. Obi-Wan is standing in the middle of his decrepit living room, in nothing but his boxers, one of Qui-Gon's old band shirts, and a ratty old dressing gown that he's been meaning to wash for probably two months now. He blushes so hard he can literally feel his face turning scarlet.

"Leave. Right now," he demands, and yanks open the living room door to gesture at Anakin's boots.

"Come on, Obi-Wan. Calm down. If you really want me to go, I will. But why don't you sit down?"

And, Obi-Wan thinks, who is this ridiculous boy to chase him off his own couch? Maybe if he ignores Anakin, he’ll get bored and go away. So he does sit, curled up in the corner, trying to hide inside his dressing gown. He should probably change it, but that seems like admitting defeat.

Anakin smiles that awful, gorgeous smile again, and Obi-Wan feels something lurching in his chest. Anakin has barged into his house, Obi-Wan reminds himself.

He’s meant to be ignoring Anakin, but perhaps he should give him one last reminder of why, exactly, he should leave.

"You can't simply walk into my house and force me to spend five hundred and thirty dollars on you. I simply won't do it."

Anakin laughs. "I'm here because I want to be." He turns to face Obi-Wan, tucking his feet under him. He picks up The Cat and settles it on his lap. He's welcome to the little beast - may it sink its claws into his most sensitive flesh.

"Well, I'm afraid you may have misjudged," Obi-Wan replies. "I strongly recommend you go back to your real client, who will actually pay you for your attentions."

Anakin shakes his head, fluffing his fingers through The Cat's fur. "I already told him that I wasn't working. It's my day off."

Obi-Wan stares at Anakin in horror. What is that meant to mean? No doubt it's another manipulation. A trick to ease him in.

"Then you're wasting your day off."

"I don't think so. I like being here."

Obi-Wan sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. Fine, he thinks. Let Anakin stay for a while. Anakin can suffer through this miserable Sunday evening with him. He’s doing a terrible job of ignoring Anakin anyway.

"Would you like some tea?" Obi-Wan asks, crisp and formal. He can be a civil host if he wants to be.

Anakin's eyes crinkle with delight. "Sure!"

Obi-Wan sighs. Nothing seems to get past Anakin’s forcibly sunny disposition.

"And - are you, I don't know. Hungry? Should I feed you?" Obi-Wan asks, partly because he’s growing hungry himself - he usually forgets to eat on Sundays; and partly because he feels rather like he has become Qui-Gon, and taken in a stray he barely knows how to handle.

"Actually, I'm starving..."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Of course you are."

He stands and heads into the kitchen. Anakin follows him like a lost puppy, and leans against the side of the fridge to watch him work.

Tea is simple - water in the kettle to boil, two mugs, two bags. He opens the fridge and takes out the milk - quick sniff to ensure it's still palatable for guests. Water, milk, stir, serve.

And, what to feed Anakin? His cupboards are depressingly bare. Egg, bread, spices which are probably decades old by now. The cinnamon is fresh enough at least. Qui-Gon had bought him yet another spice set last christmas, and the little jars sit unopened on the shelf.

"Is french toast alright?" he asks, already breaking eggs into a bowl.

"Oh hell yes!" Anakin agrees, and slurps his tea for emphasis. Obi-Wan frowns, and goes back to whisking his eggs.

As he beats in cinnamon and sugar, Anakin rests a warm hand on his shoulder. He cringes - performative, more than anything, trying to dissuade him. But the sensation is steadying. It feels so shockingly intimate. He'd forgotten - that was why he'd let Anakin talk him round, last time.

It feels good.

For just a moment, he leans back into it. Anakin rests a chin on his shoulder. Obi-Wan sets the bowl of eggs down, and takes a sip of tea. Anakin crowds in behind him, he's almost pinned against the counter top. Instead of threatening, it feels close. Safe.

Obi-Wan ducks away, reaching for the bread bin to start soaking slices.

"Sorry," he winces, "The, ah, the butter will burn. "

"Sure," says Anakin. He hovers by Obi-Wan’s elbow as he lays in the egg-wet slices of bread, getting in his way more than anything. "That smells good."

"Yes, well. There's no cream, I'm afraid. There might be some syrup..." He flips the bread, and roots in the cupboard. There's a half used bottle of maple syrup toward the back. He can't quite reach it, with the cupboard as deep as it is. He turns around to ask, but Anakin is already there. He braces one hand against Obi-Wan's shoulder, and lifts it down to him.

"There. I'm sure it’ll be great."

Obi-Wan makes enough for both of them, and carries out their plates to the little formica coated table shoved against the wall, just outside the kitchen. There are two rickety chairs and he sets the plates down in front of them. Anakin follows, balancing knives, forks, both their cups of tea, and the syrup too.

Anakin demolishes his toast at lightning speed, piling on syrup like he's never heard of diabetes. Obi-Wan manages half his slice before he feels his appetite start to dwindle. He pushes the remains towards Anakin.

Anakin accepts Obi-Wan's half portion, and cuts off a sizable chunk. Instead of eating it, he offers the forkful to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan already knows how this goes, so he bows his head to accept it with a withering look. Anakin watches him the whole time, practically radiating contentment.

"You're so handsome," he says, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"What?" says Obi-Wan, unable to comprehend what Anakin is trying to achieve with this line of conversation.

"I mean it. You're so handsome. I'm not even on the clock, so you know I'm not lying." Right, Obi-Wan thinks. That's how Anakin is going to play him. He purses his lips, but Anakin just keeps going. "It's like... silver fox, you know?"

It's so ridiculous Obi-Wan can't help a smile twisting up his face. "Sure. A silver fox. How old do you think I am?" He certainly hopes he doesn't have grey hairs showing - though, it's been awhile since he properly checked.

"I dunno. Late thirties?" Anakin offers, along with another forkful of toast. Grudgingly, Obi-Wan accepts the mouthful. He doesn't answer Anakin's question, just pinches his lips and glares at him. Anakin must have lowballed intentionally. Obi-Wan certainly looks his forty years. Anakin looks so much younger than him, it's embarrassing.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"Twenty-five," Anakin replies. "Not so bad, huh?"

Twenty five. Good lord. Anakin tries to force another piece of toast into his face, but Obi-Wan shakes his head. Anakin stuffs it in his own mouth instead. His chewing is a sight to behold. Obi-Wan can practically see the congealed lump of it sliding down his throat as he swallows. Disgusting. Anakin drains his tea to wash the mouthful down, and belches loudly.

"That was good!" he announces.

"Excuse you," Obi-Wan snaps, but he can't seem to add his full fire to it.

"Not when I'm off the clock," Anakin grins.

"In my house!" Obi-wan cries, and he can't help smiling back. It curls over his lips without his full consent, and Anakin's eyes flash happily when he sees it.

Obi-Wan's hand moves of it's own accord, and rests on Anakin's elbow - just for a moment. Then he stands. Anakin follows, leather pants creaking. Obi-Wan stares at them, and at the chunky belt holding them up.

"What on earth are you wearing?" he asks.

Anakin rolls his eyes. "Clothes, old man. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "And do you regularly wear these clothes? What do your clients think of them?"

"These are my clothes," Anakin replies, following Obi-Wan back to the couch. "I wear them for me."

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan replies, and he can't quite keep the teasing note out of his voice. His attempt at disapproval fails, and Anakin snorts, elbowing him gently.

Obi-Wan grabs him around the waist, meaning to unbalance him and throw him onto the cushions. Halfway through, the movement changes, and he pulls Anakin in close - their chests together, an arm around him. Anakin's hands coming up to curve around his shoulders.

Anakin leans forward, and Obi-Wan could push him away. But he's paralyzed instead, or maybe mesmerized, and Anakin’s lips slide across his, dry and soft. Cinnamon, sugar, maple syrup on his breath. Obi-Wan probably smells like old tea and his awful dressing gown. He tries to push Anakin away, embarassed, and instead finds himself scrabbling at the fabric of Anakin's t-shirt.

This is going too far. It’s exactly why he wanted Anakin to leave. It’s also exactly why he contacted him in the first place.

He feels pleasantly warm all over. Anakin nuzzles at his jaw, hot breath on his skin. Obi-Wan tilts his head, and allows Anakin to glide his lips down, pressing delicate kisses at his collar bone.

It feels so _good_. Almost dangerous. It's not right, not done. If Obi-Wan lets it, this closeness will crawl inside his mind. He's spent the last decade, more even, trying to - to not feel this way. To be safe, to want what it's correct to want, and not deviate from that path.

If he let himself right now, he could - this could be intimate. Real. Anakin is so awfully charming and sweet. He seems to take all Obi-Wan's fussing in his stride, has yet to get annoyed with him. He's so utterly unafraid of this closeness.

But it's a lie, Obi-Wan reminds himself. Instead of being hurtful, that fact is desperately relieving.

Yes.

As much as this feels good to him, as much as he might crave that kind of - _relationship_ \- this is nothing special to Anakin. He's paid to do exactly this. It’s his job. He’s a professional

He can enjoy the evening, pay Anakin in the morning, a reminder to himself that this means nothing in the long run. Just a foolish dalliance that he will pay for out of pocket.

With that resolved, he's free to kiss and touch as much as he likes. He shrugs out of his awful dressing gown. Anakin slips it down his shoulders, and it pools on the floor. Then, he reaches out, and takes Anakin by the hips, and tugs him in close. Anakin hums, low and heated. Their bellies meet, thighs slide over each other. Anakin walks him backwards towards the couch.

Obi-Wan lets himself be guided - he honestly doesn't know what to exactly do next to take this further. All his past experiences have been fueled by adolescent hormones and daring idiocy.

"Pretty," Anakin murmurs against his skin, and tips him backwards into the cushions. He clambers onto Obi-Wan's lap, and settles down, straddling him and leaning forward against his chest to press him back and hold him there. Obi-Wan finds his arms pinned down next to his thighs.

He tests his range of available movement. To his delight, he discovers that his hands have range to slide up the backs of Anakin's thighs.

He’s free to do what he likes, he reminds himself. He can pay Anakin in the morning.

Anakin leans in to kiss him again, this time nibbling at his lower lip and swiping his tongue across it. Obi-Wan groans into it. Spurred on, he trails his hands higher, until he can cup Anakin's ass in his palms, and know how it feels beneath the leather of his pants, firm and pliable.

Anakin whines - a high pitched, "hnn", right into Obi-Wan's mouth and rolls his hips. He's hard - Obi-Wan can feel him through the leather, pushed up against his stomach. Obi-Wan swallows, his mouth suddenly full of too much moisture.

Anakin leans back, panting and grinning, and clearly trying to calm himself.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He looks serious, despite the heat and delight evident in the quirk of his lips. "We can stop. Do you want to stop?"

Anakin is safe, professional. Honestly, he's beautiful, too. And Obi-Wan will owe him $530, to be paid in cash in the morning.

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan says, and smiles to prove his point.

"Are you sure?" Anakin asks, searching his face.

"Yes. I'm certain."

“You tried to kick me out of your house an hour and a half ago,” Anakin reminds him.

“I can do it again, if you like?” Obi-Wan asks him.

“Well, I’d rather you didn’t,” Anakin says, looking sly. He rolls his hips again, and suddenly Obi-Wan is very aware that he has only his boxers to shield him.

But really, perhaps that’s for the best.                      

           

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the formatting is unreadable for the texts, please tell me. I will figure something else out.
> 
> Thank you for the response to the previous chapter! I really loved reading everyone's comments :) I can't believe I hit so close to 100 kudos on a first chapter! Thank you, again, so much!


	3. If I exercise my right...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan makes a choice

He has a terrible headache, and he’s far too warm.

And his bladder is full.

Obi-Wan rolls towards the edge of the bed and jumps when his arm smacks into something soft and warm.

“Mhhr,” Anakin says into his pillow, and then he opens his eyes just enough to glare at Obi-Wan. He’s naked.

To Obi-Wan’s horror, he realises that he is too. They both stink - sweat, warm bodies and sex. He wrinkles his nose.

Anakin blinks at him through sleepy eyes.

Obi-Wan stares at Anakin for far too long, then squints at his clock. 5:12 am, at least half an hour before he usually drags himself out of bed. He needs a cold shower, so perhaps that's for the best.

Anakin is blocking his exit, his long, leith body stretching out across the bed. It’s an effective barrier that forces Obi-Wan up against the wall. Obi-Wan pulls himself up, blushing at his nakedness. His room is rather cold, outside the blankets. The duvet tents over his back. Anakin frowns unhappily, and yanks it back down.

"G'back t' sleep," Anakin grouses

"I will in a moment," Obi-Wan lies. He tries to shuffle backwards under the covers, but that quickly proves impractical. Giving up, he peels the covers away, and attempts to clamber over Anakin and the duvet both.

Anakin wakes up properly halfway through this maneuver, as Obi-Wan is hovering over him, naked and red faced. Anakin meets his eyes, then flicks his gaze downward. It's dark, and surely Anakin can't see anything - but he offers Obi-Wan a sultry grin anyway. Obi-Wan flees to the bathroom, to the safety of the shower.

He's almost certain that Anakin will insist on joining him. To his relief, Anakin leaves him be. He cleans himself off with swift efficiency, trying very hard not to think about how it had felt to have hands other than his own on his skin. He slips on a rough flannel dressing gown, and leaves the bathroom barefooted.

He expected Anakin to go back to sleep, and was preparing himself for a wrestling match to get the boy out of bed. To his surprise, there's a light on downstairs.

Obi-Wan wraps his dressing gown tighter around himself, and descends the stairs. His toes curl into the carpet. The living room is still dark - blessedly, his eyes aren’t ready for the bright overheads yet. The kitchen light is on.

A wave of coffee scent and hot butter summons him in from the hallway. He crosses the dark room, and peers through the kitchen door. Anakin has pilfered a pair of Obi-Wan’s fluffiest pyjamas. He’s stood over the stove, cheerfully cracking eggs into slices of bread over the stove top.

“What are you doing, exactly?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Hmm? Oh-” Anakin looks over his shoulder, and seems pleased by what he sees. “I’m making breakfast. Have some coffee.”

“Thank you,” says Obi-Wan, a little awkwardly. He’s not sure how he feels about Anakin co-opting his kitchen. At least Anakin has found the french press, and seems to know how to use it.

“What are you making?” Obi-Wan asks, fetching two dainty coffee cups and saucers for he and Anakin to use.

“Eggy in the basket,” Anakin replies. “I saw it in a film once. It’s good.”

Obi-Wan peers over Anakin’s shoulders at a pan full of bread toasting in butter. The eggs are leaking into the bread and crisping golden brown.

“Breakfast too, hmm?”

“Breakfast,” Anakin grins, looking delighted.

Obi-Wan hums and escapes back into the living room. It seems that Anakin’s services know no bounds.

And that reminds him - while Anakin is busy, he has an opportunity to retrieve the money with which he intends to pay him, and rid himself of the unwanted debt between them.

His safe is in the cupboard under the stairs, and should contain enough to dispense with the obligation. He counts out five hundred and thirty dollars, slips it into an envelope from his writing drawer, and sets it on the table for after breakfast.

Then he heads back into the kitchen. If he’s going to shell out five hundred and thirty dollars, he might as well make the most of it. He nestles a hand at the small of Anakin’s back, one last sample of the heat from his skin. Anakin only smiles at him, so Obi-Wan presses in closer. The kitchen is cold this time in a morning.

Anakin has just about finished frying the eggs off, and now appears to be attempting to wrangle the pieces of toast onto two separate plates. Obi-Wan watches him for a while, entertained, until Anakin bursts one of the yolks

“Damn it, that one was perfect-”

“You can have that one,” Obi-Wan says.

“That’s not fair! I cooked!”

“Which means you made the mistake,” Obi-Wan replies. “But if it means that much to you, I’ll have whichever.”

“Get the coffee, I’ll bring these out,” Anakin commands, his bottom lip is stuck out in an adorable pout.

Obi-Wan carries the press and the two cups out to his little formica table. Anakin deposits Obi-Wan’s plate in front of him - two slices, both with unbroken yolks.

Anakin wastes no time in digging in. Obi-Wan takes a heady swig of the coffee. The taste washes down into his stomach, then back up his spine, and something pops pleasantly in between his temples.

 _Good morning_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. That’s Qui-Gon’s habit, his post-coffee theatrics.

“You know, if you had bacon I’d have made some,” Anakin says, as he nudges Obi-Wan a knife and fork toward him, reminding him to eat.

“I, ah, haven’t shopped in a while.”

Anakin stares at him, chewing a mouthful of toast. “Do you buy anything other than bread and eggs?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” Obi-Wan replies, staring down at his own plate. He cuts off a slice of toast from the corner, and then another. The envelope containing Anakin’s money sits to his right, like a little block of ice next to his elbow.

“Well then, what else do you buy?”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitch up at the corners. “I buy butter, which you know because you’ve cooked with it.” Anakin roll his eyes and huffs. Obi-Wan ignores him. “I also buy milk. For my tea.”

Anakin is still chewing, but that doesn’t stop him. “I dunno, you seem like a bulgar wheat salad type of guy.” A dribble of yolk escapes Anakin’s mouth and trickles down his chin. Anakin chases it back into his mouth with a finger, smearing it across his face.

“That’s only at work,” Obi-Wan says wryly, and stares down at his own eggs, which he hasn’t yet touched. “Thank you for breakfast,” he says. “It looks delicious.”

He eats a piece of toast - it really is good. He just seems to be missing his appetite. Perhaps he’ll feel better once he’s resolved his debt.

He takes another mouthful of coffee, and pushes the envelope towards Anakin.

Anakin stares at it. “What’s that?” he asks, after a long, awkward moment.

“Five hundred and thirty dollars. Cash,” Obi-Wan replies tightly.

Anakin frowns, looking serious, almost somber. Perhaps he doesn’t appreciate his carefully crafted illusion being shattered. Obi-Wan hardly knows the correct etiquette for situations like these.

“What’s it for?” Anakin asks, his expression smoothing, like oil and water.

“Services rendered,” Obi-Wan says, hedging to avoid embarrassment.

Anakin glares at him. “What services?”

Obi-Wan sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Why did he think that this conversation would make him feel better? The egg yolks on his plate stare up at him like a pair of sad, wobbly eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Obi-Wan huffs, and stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth to avoid talking anymore.

“I don’t,” Anakin replies, apparently hell bent on being as difficult and humiliating as possible. Obi-Wan desperately wants this man out of his house. Outside, the sun is rising. He’s not sure he can face Anakin in the cold light of day.

“Take it - I’m paying you.”

Anakin sighs, deeply and mournfully, in a very good imitation of how Obi-Wan feels right now. “I don’t need paying,” he says.

“Yes you do, because I owe you. So take your money, finish your breakfast, and go about your day.”

Anakin reaches out, and places a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan stiffens, frozen half way through lifting a bite of egg to his mouth.

“Look,” says Anakin, in an incredibly patronising tone. “Imagine you had a friend-”

It’s more than Obi-Wan can bear. He raises his eyes to meet Anakin’s gaze. Gently and firmly, he picks Anakin’s wrist up between thumb and forefinger, and places it on the table, as far away from his shoulder as possible. Anakin gapes at him, and then has the nerve to laugh.

“Oh, _come on,_ Obi-Wan-”

“Just take the money, and get out of my house. Please.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, and smirks. “I can... get out of the house, if that works for you?”

“And take the money with you!” Obi-Wan cries, because he can hear the specific note of trickery in Anakin’s voice.

“Why?” Anakin says, and his own voice raising to match Obi-Wans.

“Compensation!”

“Compensation for _what_? I haven’t had an accident!” Anakin throws his hands into the air, then huffs, and slumps in his chair.

Obi-Wan laughs, startle by Anakin’s over the top reaction and persistent, dogged oblivious act. Anakin’s face breaks with that awful smile again - the soft, gentle one that makes Obi-Wan’s chest lurch. That smile is a weapon, Obi-Wan realises, targeted to convince Obi-Wan that Anakin truly likes him. It’s _fake_.

Obi-Wan grits his teeth, and finishes the last of his eggs in silence. They take their plates back into the kitchen together, without speaking. Obi-Wan stops Anakin in the doorway, hand on his arm.

“Just take the money and finish your coffee, I have to leave soon anyway.”

Anakin dresses with him in silence.

They both stand by the front door. The whole neighbourhood will have the opportunity to watch a hooker leave his house.

“I had a good time,” says Anakin, and his voice sounds small somehow. He’s carrying the envelope, stuffed into his helmet for the time being. Obi-Wan checked.

“Yes, well,” says Obi-Wan.

Anakin takes a deep breath. He seems to be considering something.

Then, before Obi-Wan can prevent him, Anakin crowds him up against the hallway wall. Obi-Wan tries to jerk away, but Anakin’s hand is suddenly on the side of his face - and then Anakin leans in to kiss him.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Anakin is warm, and soft, and he still smells a little like the bedroom - he’s not washed yet. He’s not even brushed his teeth - Obi-Wan can imagine the taste of himself still on Anakin’s lips.

Obi-Wan stiffens and thinks about moving away, but there’s nowhere else for him to go, and this is hardly his fault. He didn’t ask for it, this is just a thing that is happening - and then Anakin leans back, and his hand is still firm on the side of Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan tilts forward half automatically, chasing Anakin’s mouth, then flattens himself back against the wall. He feels trapped, and strangely safe.

Anakin’s eyes are dark in the grey morning light.

He opens Obi-Wan’’s door, and leaves.

Obi-Wan puts his shoes on and goes to work.

When he gets home, the envelope is on the doormat, every dollar accounted for.

\--

He deletes Anakin’s number from his phone, and all their messages along with it. He cringes as he reads through them, at his own recklessness and rudeness alike.

Two weeks later, Vos invites him out for friday night drinks. Obi-Wan goes - the first time in several months. He stays long enough to be polite, then slinks home.

It’s dark, of course, and once again he finds himself fumbling with his keys. He feels lightheaded, just a touch tipsy. The Cat follows him inside, hollering for food after being callously abandoned for two more hours than usual.

There’s more post than usual on his doormat. He picks them up and turns on the hall light to examine them. Christmas cards - one of the addresses is clearly in Qui-Gon’s distinctive script.

The other simply says “Obi-Wan” on the front. He doesn’t recognise the hand writing, and sets that one aside.

Qui-Gon’s card pictures a pair of golden retrievers playing in the snow, and contains a brief update on the state of his menagerie, and his usual entreaty for Obi-Wan to come for Christmas.

He’ll have to go.

Especially after he skipped Thanksgiving. Obi-Wan sets the card aside, and strips out of his outdoor clothes, piling them on the armchair in a fit of laziness

He pours food into The Cat’s bowl and changes the water, then heads into the kitchen to sort out his own supper.

Even his eggs are running low.

He has three options - suffer through another night of egg on toast, his satisfaction decreased by the fact that he has only a single egg left; order take out; or head to the shops. The area he lives in is relentlessly suburban, and the nearest store is half a mile away. He’s too drunk to drive - he caught the bus home.

But the walk will help clear his fuzzy head, and he probably could use to stretch his legs anyway.

He pulls his hat and gloves back on, a little resentfully, and sets off into the night with a backpack to help him carry his purchases. Perhaps he could find a bottle of wine, too. Or maybe brandy, in keeping with the creeping Christmas sentiment.

The walk to the store takes him back through the park, which he’d walked through with Anakin months ago. From there, he walks past the restaurant by the river where they’d eaten - he can see the girl with the blond pigtails waiting on guests, the window like a picture frame hung in the dark.

The convenience store is too bright - the lights are neon, and one is faintly flickering, a ticking noise that breaks up the high pitched hum. One of the workers is mopping the floor with a lemon scented bleach wash. It burns his nose faintly.

Obi-Wan steps over the shiny patch of wet floor, and winces as he leaves a trail of footprints.

“Sorry,” he says. The worker stares back at him, dead eyed.

Obi-Wan takes a basket from close to the cash register, and goes to hide in the grocery aisle.

He doesn’t see himself cooking any time soon, but some fruit would brighten up his diet. Grapes, tangerines, apples. Why not.

He needs more eggs, more milk - more butter too, really. He should shop at a proper market, this is a ridiculously expensive way of buying groceries, but… oh well.

There’s a whole aisle dedicated to different chocolate bars, and he find himself suckered in. His sweet tooth is inconvenient at best.

It seems like this aisle has captured another poor soul - someone else joins him in staring at the wide array of bad choices.

The person edges closer - perhaps Obi-Wan is in their way. He takes that as a sign, and goes to look for extra cat food instead.

A moment later, he’s joined by the same person from the candy aisle. This time they lounge against the stacked shelves, like they want to start a conversation.

Obi-Wan grabs a can of tuna chunk surprise, and makes a dash for the cash register, trying very hard not to look up and catch their eye.

That’s when they step in front of him.

“Obi-Wan? Are you there under that scarf?”

He looks up, and - oh no.

He should have picked up a basket, because Obi-Wan precedes to drop nearly everything he’s carrying - the grapes, tangerines and other assorted fruits, the can of tuna, even the bar of chocolate that’s somehow crept in with the rest of his groceries.

Anakin bends down beside him and helps him collect his soon-to-be possessions.

“You okay there?” he asks.

“Just fine,” says Obi-Wan, rather stiffly. Anakin is still carrying his bag of apples. Obi-Wan tries to take it, but his hands are laden with possessions.

“Help me carry these things to the register?” he asks, a little snappishly.

“No problem - let me take those,” Anakin says, and steals his tangerines too.

Obi-Wan sighs. It looks like even when he’s minding his own business, he can’t avoid Anakin.

He carries his goods to the front of the store, Anakin in tow, and deposits everything at the cash register. He slips off his backpack to start packing, and Anakin takes it from him.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks, like he isn’t helping out anyway.

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan says, even though he knows it’s useless. Anakin will do whatever he likes.

While Obi-Wan searches for his cash card, Anakin starts putting his things away - or rather he jams them into the bag without thought for how the apples might get bruised or the grapes squished.

Obi-Wan grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything - there’s no point, he thinks. Anakin will just take it as an opportunity to start a conversation, and then who knows what might happen.

Obi-Wan pays, and Anakin hands him back his bag. It seems as if Anakin has already bought whatever it is he needed, because he follows Obi-Wan out of the store.

Obi-Wan coughs delicately. He supposes he should thank Anakin for the assistance. “Ah- thank-”

“Come back with me,” Anakin says, walking backwards up the street, away from the shop, and in the opposite direction that Obi-Wan should be traveling.

“Excuse me?”

“Come back to my place.”

Obi-Wan follows, a few paces away. “Aren’t you - I don’t know - working, or something?”

“It’s my night off,” Anakin replies. His hands are stuffed into his pockets. His gaze locks with Obi-Wan’s.

Obi-Wan sighs. The same sing and dance - they’ve done this before.

“Don’t you have better things to do,” he asks, mostly because he feels like it should be said.

“I like spending time with my friends,” Anakin replies.

Obi-Wan swallows. He thinks of five hundred and thirty dollars on his doormat, and Anakin kissing him so ferociously against the wall in his hallway. He thinks of his tiny, cold house, with a book he isn’t interested in, and a CD in the player that he’s sick of listening to.

“And, are we ‘friends’, dare I ask?” Obi-Wan says, still following Anakin.

“Well, wouldn’t you like to be?” Anakin replies. He smiles that awful, false, heartbreaking smile, and stops in the street. Waiting for Obi-Wan to make his decision, Obi-Wan thinks. He's not a particularly good friend - heaven knows, he’s stiff, uninteresting and rather dull. Perhaps Anakin pities him.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan says, a little loftily. He honestly can’t think of anyone else who’s been willing to spend this much time in his company the past few months - except for Vos, and he doesn’t count.

“Come on then,” Anakin says hand outstretched, palm up.

Obi-Wan places his hand in Anakin’s, and Anakin tugs him forward. Obi-Wan staggers and curses, but Anakin just laughs, even when Obi-Wan glares balefully at him.

“We’ll hang out, it’ll be fun,” Anakin insists. Obi-Wan sighs, and Anakin scoops an arm round him, guiding him around a corner and off the main street.

Obi-Wan allows himself to be guided. Why not? Anakin has been incredibly insistent about spending time with him, every time they’ve met. It’s not like Obi-Wan has anywhere better to be, either. And… he’d intended to spend the evening being social.

Perhaps it will be easier to relax around Anakin, than around his workmates and colleagues. He’s been so terribly rude to him already - it’s not like it could get any worse.

Plus, Anakin still has his backpack.

“Wait - Anakin - I can carry that. Please,” Obi-Wan says, reaching out an arm to stop Anakin and take it from him.

Anakin dodges away, skipping playfully. “Nuh-uh, not until you’ve come by! I want some of your chocolate.”

Obi-Wan jogs after him, trying to snatch his bag back again. “Give it here, I’m not going to run away-” he lunges again, and misses completely. Anakin dances around him, and wraps an arm tightly around his shoulder.

Obi-Wan slips an arm around his waist, almost instinctively. “Well, if you won’t let me have the bag, I’ll have to keep you with me instead,”

“Sure,” Anakin says. “Lead the way.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thin, but it’s more to hide a smile. “Perhaps you could point us in the right direction?”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo! There we go. I have to confess I'm a little nervous to post this, it's not really like anything I've written before. Please drop a kudos or a comment if you did - every single one means so much to me! Nothing brings me greater joy, honestly, than knowing I made someone else feel a thing.
> 
> Will there be updates? I'm not ruling it out, which is why there's a question mark on the chapter.
> 
> Thank you as always to the talented Kaiserine for all the ideas, for being so good with Anakin, and for going over this with a fine toothed comb. Any remaining mistakes are my own fault.
> 
> If you liked this fic, [please consider visiting ](http://astalitha.tumblr.com/post/167596447315/keep-your-mouth-shut-it-doesnt-really-matter%0A)over on tumblr to reblog or chat!


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